A Delightful Piece of Excess Baggage
by richard.fsea
Summary: On the way back to Gotham, Oswald Cobblepot met another hitchhiker. AU. EDIT: Temporarily on hiatus until I have a breather from school.
1. Day 1

**Author's Note: People have enquired as to why Oswald was born in WWII, since that would appear to throw the whole timeline out of whack. I would like to refer you to this article: /articles/41848-what-time-period-is-gotham-set-in-theres-more-than-one-answer-to-that-question. Gotham was not intended to be set in any fixed period of time. I am taking artistic liberties with this story. I hope you don't mind.**

Oswald stumbled into the car with a grunt. His beady eyes assessed the interior: well-furnished, the faint smell of bodily fluids, subversive images in the dashboard, two young men drinking beer. Young, rich, easily ransomed members of high society.

"Thank you _so _much, guys, truly," he said, eyes fixed on them via the mirror. "I'm very grateful, I've been waiting for hours."

"No kidding," the driver said, eyes half-closed- _probably smoking cannabis_, Oswald assessed, "you look like you've crawled out a cemetery."

"Smells like it too," the other one stated. "Open a window back there." This one wasn't driving. If Oswald had to take care of anything, he'd be the first one to go. While he was opening it, dutifully (_for now_), the same boy sprayed something sweet-smelling in his face.

There were two coughs; one was Oswald's, the other was somewhat softer. Somewhat feminine. The seat to the left shifted, and Oswald saw that there was another girl sitting beside him. They made eye contact briefly. She looked away sharply.

"See you've met the other hitchhiker we came across," the driver mentioned, turning up the radio. "We're transporting her to Gotham, in exchange for favours. You know?" He tried to turn around in his seat to share a _look_ with Oswald, but honks forced him to turn back, cursing.

Oswald smiled. "Yes, yes, I see." The girl shifted further away from him; she was striking, to be honest, despite the fact that her figure was hidden from his view. Platinum-blonde hair and very, uh, beautiful features. Out of his league, but wasn't that why Oswald was going back to Gotham? He received a bottle of beer with a smile.

"What happened to you, anyhow?"

"It was my own fault. Foolish arrogance led me astray. But I've learnt my lessons. I'll be back, stronger and smarter than ever."

"Good luck with that, bro."

"And here I am, riding around in a lovely truck, sharing a nice cold beer with my new friends- my luck's already turned, right?"

He clinked glasses with the boy in the passenger seat, feeling the girl's gaze on his sodden back. There was a faint sensation of warmth, compared to his previous condition, but he quashed that immediately. The boy would have to die. Any other circumstance would result in outcomes that he wasn't sure he'd like to court. As for the girl- she looked cowed, at least for now. He probably could handle her.

"Hey, dude," the would-be-victim said, twisting his neck just a bit. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a penguin?"

Oswald went cold. "No," he replied, his grip on the bottle tightening, the girl huddling a little tighter into herself, "no one's ever told me that."

And then there was the sound of glass shattering, and then there was red across the windshield and across his vision, and the driver shouted, and there was a faint squeak from the girl, and Oswald shouted, "_Keep driving if you value your continued existence,_" and so he drove on.

* * *

When they finally came to a stop, Oswald bludgeoned the driver over the head and covered him with a blanket that had been provided, wordlessly, by the girl. They dumped the dead man into the river.

"As long as you don't try to stop me," Oswald told her, as they were making their way back, "you'll stay alive. You still want to get to Gotham, though, don't you?"

The girl nodded. There was a little black mole on her neck. She looked malnourished. Oswald decided to take a risk.

"Why would you want to go back to Gotham, anyway?"

The girl stayed silent. She remained silent all the way until the trailer, on the outskirts of town.

* * *

"Is it still for rent?" Oswald enquired, pointing at the trailer.

"Yeah. Hundred bucks a week. Ain't much-"

"I'll take it." A wad of bills, counted by the girl as she sat beside Oswald, staring out the window, were stuffed into the owner's hand.

"You don't want to look at it first?"

"No, I'm not fussy."

"Okay, it's all yours."

"The key?"

"It's- hey, that your wife?" The driver pointed at the girl, still sitting in the car. She looked up, surprised, eyes wide, and Oswald decided to take another risk.

"Yeah. We're, uh, travelling together."

"Congratulations. The key's in the door."

"Uh- congratulations, sir?"

"Yeah. Expecting, ain't you?"

And that was when Oswald finally noticed the bump that had been there for around three hours of driving.

* * *

"Your wife?"

The girl finally spoke. No accent, no particular abnormality in her speech, or any signs of hostility.

"Yes, um, I'm sorry if you happen to be-"

"No. No." The girl turned to him. "I'm- uh- a runaway. Dad- beat me. I hitched a ride on the first vehicle I could find. They all tried- to- rape me. I ran. Ended up here."

Oswald kept his eyes on the road. The truck was parked behind the trailer, so the owner couldn't see anything. Now it was his turn to be silent as they shifted the unconscious body of the rich kid into the trailer.

Once the boy had been tied up and his mouth taped up, the girl spoke again, quietly, in another room.

"So- uh- you saved me. Thank you. I'm Dan. Short for- uh- Danielle. Danielle Windsor."

She held out her hand, and, hesitantly, Oswald took it.

"You're welcome. I'm Oswald. Oswald Cobblepot."

"Hey, Oswald."

She was more beautiful than his mother, Oswald found. He'd killed a man in front of her; she remained unaffected. He was a criminal; she was unaffected. If he'd been a romantic, she would've been a godsend. As it was, though, she was most likely a liability, until she proved herself otherwise.

"I'll go get food." Danielle stood up and bustled outside to the car. She returned a few minutes later with a few tins of canned food, and rummaged through the cabinets as well. Oswald got some newspapers and cardboard from the car and began assembling a little diorama to stare at when he got bored.

When he was done, he tried to stand on a chair and get it up, but his feet were ungainly, and he nearly fell a few times. "Here," Danielle said, now divested of all her layers, "I'll do it." She was much taller than Oswald; he watched as she deftly manoeuvred it into position.

"Thank you," he finally answered, an hour later, when they were eating the canned food at one of the tables. Oswald had ditched his jacket, but he was still wearing the clothes of the dead man. Danielle, when divested of her layers, was clad in a simple T-shirt, too big for her, and torn jeans. Dressed thusly, it was impossible to see her as anything but another pregnant teenager.

"Yeah, you're welcome."

"How far along are you?"

Her ravenous consumption stopped abruptly. She looked away, hair framing her delicate features, and finally replied, "Six months. Twenty-two years old, if you want to know that too."

"No! No, I don't want to. I have no intention of keeping you here, you know, as long as you don't tell anyone what I'm doing. You're free to leave, you know."

Danielle turned to face him. "I- I know. It's just-" She closed her eyes. Oswald swallowed his mouthful of salmon. "I feel _safe_ with you, you know that? I want to help. I heard you talk in the car. Are you a gangster? A criminal? You look like the sort who'll rise one day, and I want to _help_ you. Because you saved me. And if- if you want to fuck me, it's okay. It's fine. I want to help."

It was the most fluid speech he'd ever gotten from her. Oswald sat stunned. He'd thrown away his childhood dreams of having a beautiful girlfriend, only to have _this_ thrown in his face. Danielle bent back over her food and resumed eating. Well, his mother would certainly be pleased. Wait- on second thoughts, she wouldn't.

"No," he said, finally. "No, I don't want to take advantage of you, if that's what you want. But first- I need to get one thing clear with you, D-Danielle. Can I trust you?"

"Absolutely."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Oswald smiled. He'd never had a chance to talk about his plans before, and he'd never had a henchman/partner before. (_He'd work out whether she was a henchman or partner later._)

"All right, then, Danielle. My name is Oswald Cobblepot, but I was originally from Germany. My family name was Kapelput. I was born in the middle of World War 2, on the day Operation Barbarossa began."

* * *

Oswald talked about his life in fits and starts over the next five hours, in between roughing the driver up, interrogating him and placing numerous unanswered calls to the driver's mother. Danielle was always there to listen attentively.

_Trust no one_, his father had told him, on his deathbed, and it was a sentiment echoed by his mother. But Danielle- Danielle, with her smile and laugh and body- with the exception of her distended abdomen- Danielle, he felt he could trust. It was like the link he felt with the policeman. He'd saved his life. Oswald had saved Danielle. He, of all people, could understand being bound to another person, bound to trust and respect another person.

Besides, Danielle had never uttered so much as a squeak when he killed the boy, and she watched him kick and punch the driver with nary a word.

Besides, apart from his life story, Oswald had not told her anything concrete- how old he was, for example. Where his mother lived. Who he was working for. What his plans for the future were.

"So, what's your story?"

Oswald and Danielle lay together, staring at a map of Gotham. He had been pointing out certain landmarks, and mixing in a few anecdotes. She had been a good audience.

Danielle paused. She looked at Oswald for a bit. He smiled at her, as encouragingly as he dared, as wide as he dared, despite his nose, despite his eyes, despite every unattractive feature of him.

And she

smiled

back.

* * *

The phone rang. Danielle brought it to Oswald, who put it to his ear and answered.

"Yes, this is he… well, I'm looking at your son right now, and… he doesn't look good… ha… madam, I assure you, your son is not trying to trick you… oh, he _will_ die a horrible death unless… no, no, really truly he isn't joking. I'm not joking. I will _poke_ his eyeballs out."

Danielle kicked the boy (_Harold_) gently with the toe of one ragged sock. He whimpered.

"Uh, uh, how can you say that? You saw the video I sent, I'm not lying." Oswald removed the phone from his ear and shrugged. Danielle shrugged back, and nudged the boy again before returning to a nearby chair.

"Madam- madam- calm yourself- if- if ten thousand is too much, I'm sure we can- hello? _Hello? Hello?_"

Oswald stared at the phone for a minute before placing it on the table. "Well, that's disappointing. She didn't believe me."

"You must be _quite_ the scamp, dude," Danielle threw over her shoulder, before disappearing into the bathroom to relieve herself.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Oswald called after her, and turned back to Harold, who whimpered. Again.

* * *

"Are we going to Gotham?"

Oswald burnt the body at night, while the proprietor was sleeping. Danielle huddled into his side. He only had to think for a moment.

"Yes," he whispered, the smell of corpses filling his nostrils, just like they had back when he was five, just like they had back when he was nine and the Americans brought him and his family to see the dead at Auschwitz, "yes, we are."


	2. Day 2

"Damn," Oswald cursed, kicking the truck savagely, "it's out of gas."

"Well, we could always take the bus," Danielle suggested.

"The bus it is."

They hurried down to the bus stop. Whatever feeling Oswald had previously held towards the girl had dissipated with the morning. He had a job to do, and she was baggage. He could ditch her at any moment. What he had to do, he had to do alone.

"All aboard whoever's going to Gotham, the cesspit of America- ooh, what do we have here?" The bus driver rubbed his hands together and leered at Danielle as she ascended the bus after Oswald. His eyes landed on her abdomen. "_Someone's_ been naughty."

"Ignore him," Oswald muttered, and nudged Danielle to an unobtrusive seat.

* * *

"Is _this_ Gotham, then?" Danielle asked, as she looked around the old city. "It's… not as bad as I thought."

"It is home," Oswald sighed. He blinked, made an inarticulate noise, and turned to Danielle. "Listen, Danielle, what I'm going to do, is, uh, put you up somewhere safe." He began walking; Danielle easily caught up. Not for once, he stared enviously at her long, perfectly formed legs.

"Where?"

"My mother's apartment."

"_What_? Didn't you tell me about how she-"

"I know what I said, Danielle." Oswald held up a hand. "But she's my mother, and if you just grin and bear it, everything will be fine. If anyone comes over, just say you're her maid. I'll tell my mother the same."

"Hey!"

A hand landed on Oswald's shoulder. He turned, and wished he hadn't. Red-rimmed eyes widened. "Oi, Cobblepot! You're supposed to be dead!"

"Excuse me," Danielle interrupted, fixing Oswald's old acquaintance with a steely glare, cradling her abdomen, "I'm afraid you've got my husband confused. We hail from New York, not Gotham." Oswald took the cue and wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders. "Exactly," he said, "we're here on holiday. Last spot of serenity before the baby's born." He shared a forced smile with Danielle.

"No, no, no," the other man replied, shaking his hand and pulling Oswald away from Danielle, "I don't know how you got hold of this broad, but- _urk_!"

"Come on," Danielle whispered into Oswald's ear, tugging him along, stuffing the blood-stained remnants of his beer bottle into her pocket, "let's go before the police come."

Oswald closed his pocket knife and stuffed it in his pocket. "That," he muttered, as they rounded the corner and hurried towards his mother's apartment block, "was very good."

Danielle looked at him. "Thank you."

* * *

"Ma, please, I can explain," Oswald stated, loudly and clearly, which was responded to by a torrent of bastardized German as his mother shuffled into the house. Danielle followed him in. The house smelled of mothballs, like old German grandeur. It was strange how Oswald had talked about his mother being compelled to remove all vestiges of Nazism from her home, and then seeing it in person.

She remained standing. Oswald motioned at the chair, and so she sat, curling into herself like she'd done back in the truck, only this time it was false. Danielle had no doubt that Oswald would bring his mother around to his point of view.

"-you go off again, with another woman, and leave your mother home to _rot_!"

"Ma, I'm not- someone tried to kill me!"

There was horrified silence. Danielle took in a deep breath- and wished she hadn't. There were dust particles everywhere. As she was wiping her streaming nose, Oswald poked his head out of the kitchen, looking at nowhere in particular, and winced.

Then came the explosion. "_SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL MY DARLING OSWALD?_"

"Ma- Ma, I'm alive, right?"

Danielle had had enough. She stood up and moved to the kitchen, leaning on Oswald's shoulder. "Mrs Cobblepot, your son saved me from prostitution."

Mrs Cobblepot's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, darling Oswald," she whimpered, placing one pungent hand on her son's sleeve, "so that's what happened. How wonderful! You saved yourself. And you saved- _her_. Oh, what happened, Oswald? Tell me _everything_. I'll get the bath ready." Beady, slightly senile eyes assessed her. Thin lips curved upwards.

"Oh, _Ja_," she said, with a faint gurgle in her throat. "Blonde hair, blue eyes. Good, good. Oswald, I'll get you a new suit. You-" She flapped her hands at the couch. "You, my dear, you just sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Oswald, her long-suffering son, sighed and shuffled towards the bathroom. "Nice touch," he told her. Danielle smiled at him.

* * *

When Oswald finally emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing his old suit of clothes. His mother came after him, holding up a beautiful piece of formal attire. "Oswald, Oswald," she exclaimed, nearly incoherently, "You forgot your suit!"

"Ma, I need to go out undercover. Do you understand that, Ma? I can't go out like that- people will recognize me. I don't want to be recognized."

"Like Skorzeny?"

A sigh. "Yes, Ma, like Skorzeny." He turned to Danielle, who handed him his satchel wordlessly. "She's agreed to keep you under the pretence of her maid. Stay put for now, okay? I'll need you to carry out some tasks tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye."

Oswald left the house.

There was the sound of fabric straining from behind her. Danielle turned to see Oswald's mother flopped dramatically on the sofa, one hand over her face. "Oh, Oswald," she squawked, "he was always so strong-willed! Sit down, dear, sit down."

Danielle sat.

"Tell me how Oswald saved you, dear."

Danielle twiddled her thumbs and glanced at the door. "I needed to get, uh, home, but no one would take me, and there were no jobs available, so I-" She faked choking up, and swiped a hand across her slightly damp eyes. "I had to-"

Oswald's mother put a damp hand on her lap. "Oh, I understand, dear," she murmured. "Call me Gertrude, dear. What's your name?"

"D-Danielle."

"Danielle. You know, the Führer would never have let this happen to good German girls. My first husband- Frederick- he was one of the Hitler Youth, you know, and I was in the German Girls' League. Daughter of one of the old guard. We camped next to each other, and he never forced himself on me, you know? _Ja_?"

Danielle nodded vigorously. Mrs Cobblepot (because she still couldn't bring herself to refer to her, in her mind, as Gertrude) gazed into the middle distance.

"Frederick was not yet fit for military service when the war started. He stayed with us, and when the recruiting officers came, he hid in our house. I told his parents that he'd gone off and was killed. That way, they'd be prouder. If a German boy came back alive, he would have been stoned by the village for not fighting hard enough."

Mrs Cobblepot shook her head once, pathetically. Her beady eyes focussed once more on Danielle. "So Oswald tells me you are here to help with the household as well? Good, good. You should start to earn your keep here."

* * *

Oswald drove his trusty blade into soft flesh over and over again, twisting his head away to avoid any messiness, and once the gurgling dwindled into a sort of wet squishy sound, he turned back and removed anything of value, both objectively and subjectively. The money he stowed in his satchel; it came up to about two thousand, right now. The clothes he also kept in his satchel.

If Danielle hadn't been evicted by the time he got back home, it would have been a great accomplishment. Then again, he'd never brought a girl home before. His mother was highly ambivalent about girls- _you have urges, Oswald, but don't be a slave to them, like the Slavs_\- so he had no idea whether she'd react differently to Danielle.

Once he was done pillaging the body, he rolled it into a nearby canal and made his way back home. He needed his suit- some veneer of respectability was necessary so as to procure the sufficient aura to persuade a few of his old _friends_ (who were nearly all ex-classmates who'd turned to petty crime) regarding a lucrative job.

When he knocked the door, there was silence. Then Danielle opened it. Oswald gaped. She was wearing an off-white shirt, untucked, and a threadbare dark blue skirt, and an untied shred of fabric around her neck. It was clearly a bit too small for her. Oswald shuffled inside.

"I-I see my mother dug out her old German Girls' League outfit."

Danielle smiled. After a long, hard day of checking on Gotham's criminals and waiting for an audience with the restaurant manager, only to be turned down, Oswald felt surprisingly warm. "She said I was not to wear such modern clothing in her home. Sausage?"

"Yes, please. I'll need to grab my suit after this, though. Meet some old friends."

"_Oswald!_" He turned in time to see his mother emerge from the kitchen, sporting another threadbare apron. "Your friend is _so _charming. Here, here, rest your feet. Sit down. Dinner, yes? It's been so long since you came back to eat. I blame your work."

"Me too, Ma," Oswald muttered, "me too." He took his place and started to eat. For a while, there was no sound at the table.

"Ma," Oswald finally said, scrubbing one hand across his mouth, "thank you for the food, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to go out again. I came back for the suit."

"Oh, Oswald, you busy, busy boy. Here- you sit down and talk to Danielle, and I'll take the suit. No objections."

Danielle shared a moment of silence with Oswald, and then both of them burst into half-hushed laughter. "Your mother is _quite_ a character, Oswald."

"I assume she showed you the mousetraps, then?"

"Yes. She wanted to give me a demonstration on how to use the bath."

Oswald grimaced. "Did you let her?"

"No."

* * *

"Okay, Oswald, so we go to the diner and take money that you say will be there. When, again?"

"I will tell you. I'll, uh, call you. Or an associate of mine will call you."

"Why an associate?"

"Because I'll be working at the diner you're talking about. Uh, I also need you to kill the boss of the restaurant."

"Who's that?"

"I will make sure that he'll be the guy who's walking out of the kitchen when you enter."

The three men considered. "We need money first."

"What?"

"Money. Our car. Doesn't have gas."

Oswald thrust a wad of bills into their hands. "Remember, there's a ton of money in there. I want every last bit- except one bag, which will be for me."

"Why?"

"Never you mind. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, it's understood. Who knew you were so smart, dude?"

After suffering from a few good-intentioned elbows and heavy back-slapping, Oswald limped back home.

* * *

"Oswald, brush your teeth!"

"Yes, Ma!" At a slightly lower volume, Oswald asked Danielle, "Why are you sleeping in the same room as me?"

"Gertrude wanted it."

"Since when were you on first-name-terms with my mother?"

"Today."

Oswald made an inarticulate noise and began to brush his teeth. "Danielle," he added, mouth full with toothpaste, "do you have a phone?"

"There's a house phone. No, I don't have a phone."

"Fine. You know what-" Oswald rearranged his thoughts in his head. "Never mind. I'm not sure when I'll do it, but sometime over the next week, I'm going to call this house from a public telephone and give you an address. When you get that address, go out and buy some food. Go home, spike it _liberally_ with rat poison, and bring it to that address. Leave them to eat."

Comprehension dawned in Danielle's eyes. "Rat poison is easy enough to disguise, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Impulsively, Oswald removed a wad of bills from his pocket and thrust it at her. "Here. Buy yourself something nice."

Danielle stared at the money for a while and took it. "Thanks. I'll get myself something tomorrow, when I go out to get groceries."

Oswald recoiled. "Don't spend it on groceries."

"I won't."

* * *

He spent the next hour watching her chest rise and fall as she slept, before he, too, fell asleep in a chair placed by her bedside.


	3. Day 3

Oswald paused at the door, his change of clothes stowed safely in his bag. If he was going to gain Maroni's trust, he was going to have to be as pitiful as possible. He turned his head to stare at Danielle. _Who's more pitiful than a pregnant teenager?_

"Danielle?"

"Yeah?" She was wiping the table. His mother was still sleeping. Oswald wiped his mouth and limped over.

"Danielle, can I take a picture of you?"

A pause; a beat. Then that smile again.

"Sure."

Oswald rushed into his room. When he'd not yet reconciled himself to the realities of Gotham, he'd wanted to be a photographer. For his thirteenth birthday (_the last birthday of his that his father ever attended_), his mother had given him a Polaroid. _**There**__ it is._

"Okay, just go on doing whatever it is you're doing, and- there."

Danielle straightened up and watched as Oswald flapped the developing photograph furiously. "Yes, thank you for that, Danielle. I'll just- can I take another picture?"

"Sure. Do you want it candid?"

"No. Smile, please."

Danielle smiled. Oswald's lips curved upwards of their own free will.

When he nearly tripped and fell on his face on the sidewalk, he was still smiling- though he wasn't yet ready to admit that to himself as yet. The first photograph, he would show to Maroni. The second- he'd keep for himself. Sentimentality.

* * *

Oswald fumbled in his pocket and lifted out two photographs. The first, he stuffed back into his apron. The second, he gave to Maroni.

"This- this is my housekeeper. My mother ran into her, one day, when she was shopping for groceries. She, uh, took pity on her, and took her in. She's been working for us for two months, now."

"You pay her anything?"

"No, sir. But she's happy to have a roof over her head."

Maroni's eyes flicked up and down over Oswald's whole frame, and then at the photograph. Oswald, for his part, hunched over and tried to act even more pathetic than he felt. Finally, the big man slid the photograph back to Oswald and reached inside his jacket. Oswald hoped that he didn't look so pathetic that Maroni would think that something was going on.

"Here. Take this."

Two hundred dollars. Oswald could admit to himself that he was smiling, now. "T-Thank you, sir."

Maroni turned to leave, and then paused. "Paolo, can I have that other photograph? The one you stuffed in your apron?"

"C-Certainly, sir."

Maroni snatched the photograph from Oswald and inspected it. "Thank you, Paolo. I'll keep this."

Oswald watched him leave, cold. He knew what big-time criminals like Maroni did with beautiful women. He'd just delivered Danielle into Maroni's hands. Mumbling about his need for the bathroom, refusing to meet his boss' suspicious gaze, he dove outside and ran for a payphone.

* * *

Danielle was cleaning out the rat traps when the phone rang. "I'll get it, Mrs Kapelput!"

_Hello?_

"Yes? Who is this?"

_It's Oswald. Could you, uh, stay in?_

"What? Why?"

_I think one of the crime bosses wants to bring you into a prostitution ring._

"Did you have a hand in this?"

Silence.

"_Did you?_"

_He took my picture of you._

"Damn." Danielle fumed. "Okay, fine, I'll stay in. When you get home, I want to have a talk with you."

Oswald hung up. Mrs Kapelput called from the kitchen. "Danielle, _fraulein_, who was that? Why are you so agitated?"

Danielle moved into her room as fast as she could and threw on a suit of more normal looking clothes. On her way out, she grabbed a bunch of notes on the table for the groceries. "Wrong number, Mrs Kapelput! I'm just going out to get the groceries!"

Oswald most likely had just had the photograph taken from him. Whatever crime boss had taken her photograph hadn't left the restaurant yet, and probably had bigger things on his mind than finding another prostitute, no matter how pretty she was. Thus, she probably could walk about in broad daylight without fearing capture or something similarly gruesome... for a while more, at least.

People, of course, stared at Danielle as she walked past. What little bit of narcissism that hadn't been beaten out of her was faintly aware that she had the necessary physical characteristics to be a model- skinny, blonde, attractive. When she was on the run, as well as when she was at home, those traits had never been to her advantage. Standing out was much worse than fitting in.

Being pregnant didn't help matters, either. Danielle hadn't touched her stomach in months.

She entered the grocery store and began to purchase food. The knowledge that someone else, someone _important_, knew about her existence had removed all faint hopes that had been briefly raised by Oswald's gift. Instead, Danielle spent the money on a satchel similar to Oswald's, stuffing it with daily items. She'd been pickpocketed enough times to know what sort of precautions to take.

As she was loping back to the apartment, a girl fell into step by her side.

"What happened to Mrs Kapelput? Who're you?"

According to Oswald, even in this fairly respectable part of Gotham, there was a large number of thefts and robberies, perpetrated by street urchins and homeless orphans. Somehow, they'd taken a liking to old Mrs Kapelput. She was one of the lucky few never to have been the subject of any crime.

"I'm staying with her," Danielle told the waif. She looked like a cat.

"How? What happened?"

"Her son rescued me from rape."

The waif looked at her. Receiving straightforward answers didn't seem to be something she experienced very often. "O_kay_."

Danielle continued to walk. The next time she looked, the waif was gone.

* * *

Oswald fumbled with the key. This time, he had to open it all the way himself. This time, Danielle was seated on the couch, glaring at him as he opened the door. "Danielle, I can explain-"

"I might never be able to carry out your _errand_ for you, Oswald, if this sort of thing keeps happening."

"Danielle- Danielle, Maroni is preoccupied with other things. I'll _make_ him preoccupied. He's trying to topple the established order in Gotham, not trying to consolidate his power. When he gets money, I'll- I'll turn him even further against Falcone! Please, Danielle, I'm sorry-"

Oswald's fingers clenched into the armrests. Danielle's arms were folded; she perched on the plush, mouldy sofa, one eyebrow arched. His mother continued to bang about in the kitchen.

"Oswald," she said, slowly, "There is an abandoned apartment a few floors down the hall. I want you to direct your associates to somewhere in this apartment building. Otherwise, you'll poison them yourself."

Oswald slumped back in his chair, not making eye contact. How had he allowed himself to be so worked up over- over someone else? It was insane, this was insane. He was supposed to do this himself. She was excess baggage. His hair flopped down over his forehead, nearly but not quite covering his eyes. He wished it would, though.

"I'm not well," he said, thickly, and stood up, swaying. His footsteps dragged across the hall briefly, hurriedly, and then the door closed behind him. He nearly slammed it, but decided not to.

* * *

One of the perennial street urchins accepted the remaining bottle of milk in exchange for telling him where James Gordon lived. Oswald lurched along the pavement. There had been a plate left outside for him. Doubtless his mother had told Danielle about his many teenage temper tantrums over dinner.

He was at a vital crossroads, he knew.

On the one side; a solo operation, free of baggage, ensuring that there would be no one for him to be linked to, ensuring that no one would have a hold over him.

On the other side; many hands makes light work. An attractive companion, willing to kill without compunctions. A sentimental link. Emotion. Messy things. And, most pragmatically, within three months or so, a baby.

In the end, it came down to the archaic concept of the head and the heart.

Oswald recalled his first and last experiences with women.

First; his mother. Overprotective, near-fanatical, quirky, strange, and ultimately only connected to him by blood. She had spoilt him and made him overconfident, causing him to waste years of his life on a fruitless pursuit and eventually dooming him to make fatal mistakes in his first forays into crime.

Second; female classmates. Stuck-up, obsessed with appearances, clingy, deceptive, vicious, vindictive, infuriating, and half of the reason why he hated school, the other half being the entire male population of his education.

Third: female criminals. Fish. Fish, who had broken his kneecaps and threatened him. Oswald could not resist spitting into the drain at the thought of her.

Fourth: Danielle.

* * *

Oswald nearly fell into the wooden door and went sprawling across the pavement. When he finally got to his feet, he realized that he was at Gordon's door. _Time to say hello_, he thought, inordinately, inexplicably cheerful at this late hour, and rang the doorbell.


	4. Day 4

Danielle woke up to see a note by her bedside. It read: _I'll get them to set up base in this building. If I call today, be on hand to wait for them._

"Oswald always gets like this," Mrs Kapelput said, as they were cleaning up the mess he'd made before setting off to work early. "You know, Danielle, _fraulein_, he would get so worked up if the boys or the girls called him Penguin. Where he worked, too, they called him Penguin." She wrinkled her nose. "Such nasty girls and boys!"

Danielle couldn't say she was surprised. As she ran a filmy rag over the saliva-splattered remnants of Oswald's lunch, she ticked off the odd characteristics he possessed. Formal clothing and methods of speaking? Check. Strange appearance? Check. Messy eating habits? Check.

But he _had_ saved her. It was the first time she'd had anyone do something like _that_ for her. _Kill_ for her. Maybe he hadn't done that just for her, but he hadn't killed _her_, had he? Oswald had brought her somewhere safe- relatively safe, at least. Could she say that for any of the other people she'd come across?

The funny thing was, she _had_ been a model. Working odd jobs, some prestigious, some not, she'd made it through high school quite well. Then her mother died. Then her stepfather came. And then there were no photo-shoots.

* * *

Oswald watched the procession of moneybags pass through the restaurant, wide-eyed. His boss shot him a glare, which he wasn't prepared to meet. Yet. In any case, if it came to pass as he'd planned it, he'd never get to meet his boss' eyes.

He waited five minutes after Maroni had left before ducking outside to a telephone.

"Guys, you can come now."

_Okay. Why do you want us to go to that address, anyway, Penguin?_

"Don't call me that."

_Fine._

"It's for, uh, you guys to lay low. It also happens to be where I live. Once I knock off, I'll be over to split the cash with you. My housekeeper also offered to provide lunch and dinner."

_Wow, thanks!_

"It's the least I could do."

_We're coming now._

Oswald placed the phone back, and removed it again after counting to three.

_Hello?_

"Danielle, my associates will be dropping by in a bit. Please be there to wait for them."

_Okay-_

But Oswald had already hung up, lurching back into the restaurant, his heartbeats suddenly deafening in his ears.

He'd not yet reached a concrete decision about what to do with Danielle. In the end, it boiled down to the same two sides that he'd analysed last night, no matter how sleep-deprived he might have been then. On the one hand: valuable assistance. On the other hand: a vulnerability in his operation.

Last night, when Oswald had returned home after being slammed against a wall by Jim Gordon, he'd sat in his chair and scribbled a list of pros and cons. But he was too distracted by the rising and falling of Danielle's chest.

In the end, the pros far outweighed the cons. _However_, there was still a fundamental fear nibbling at his thoughts, and it was elusive. Could it be fear that Maroni would conscript her into his affiliated brothels? Could it be that Fish would find out about her existence, following his inevitable public resurrection? It was all revolving around this one fundamental assumption:

That he cared for her.

And suddenly Oswald saw light. His mother, too, and the formal clothing and the copious lessons in etiquette, that was because she was worried about his safety, because she cared for him. He'd turned out fine, hadn't he? Despite his father's dishevelled appearance and lack of manners, he hadn't died because of that; he'd died because he was out in the rain for too long. That was all. Fear was an integral part of caring-

Hushed whispers and muffled screams drifted through the door. Oswald froze for far too long. His boss came barging out of the kitchen. "What's going on? Oh-"

Oswald slammed the door open with one hand and shoved his boss out with the other. There were no other workers in the kitchen; they'd all left by the back door, like rats from a sinking ship. His old "friends" accompanied him to the backroom. "Dead men tell no tales," Oswald muttered. The bag of money landed solidly in his hands, and he shuffled to the freezer to wait, making sure to stomp around in the spreading pool of blood first.

And he waited.

* * *

Danielle dashed downstairs while Mrs Kapelput was working her magic in the kitchen. Perched on the steps, she waited for Oswald's associates to crash into the car park with a cigarette found in one of Oswald's piles of trash.

"I'm pretty sure pregnant women aren't supposed to smoke."

It was that girl again. Danielle tapped the spot beside her. "I've got nothing in my pockets. I don't mean you harm, either. What's your name?"

The girl hesitated, and gave in. "Cat."

"That's a nice name. I'm Dan."

"How did you get to know Penguin?"

"Even you call him that?"

The girl- _Cat_\- laughed. A little bundle in her arms meowed piteously. "You've gotta admit, he does look a lot like a penguin. Now he walks like one. Right?"

"Is that a cat? No wonder- where'd you go?"

A moment later, a car roared into the car park. Danielle stood up, waving her arms wildly, discarding the cigarette. Cat was nowhere to be found.

The three men jumped out of the car, pulled out every last bundle and dashed across towards her without a word of greeting. Danielle took the hint; retrieving her stolen crowbar from behind a nearby trash can, she led them up to her floor and attempted to jimmy the door open. One of them had to help her.

"Thank you," she gasped, and followed them in, leaning on the doorframe as they dumped the bags onto the floor and dragged a number of boxes into position. Only then did they look at her.

"_Wow_," one of them said. "You'll be the one bringing us food, yeah? Penguin told us."

Danielle nodded. Another of them, an Asian, laughed and slapped her abdomen. Danielle flinched. "You've packed away a lot, bitch, haven't you? Come on. We're starving."

Danielle nodded again and ducked out into the hallway. Her fingernails scraped across the peeling wood on the door. As she made her way into the kitchen, Mrs Kapelput approached. "Oh, Danielle! Good that you're here. Where are the guests?"

"Next door, Mrs Kapelput. I'll deliver the food to them; it's okay."

One of the quirky traits of Mrs Kapelput was that she liked to place both lethal and non-lethal chemicals in close proximity to one another. Such as rat poison and salt. Danielle grabbed a bottle of expired alcohol and viciously emptied the bottle of rat poison into the food. Her lips were sore from biting.

_You've packed away a lot, bitch, haven't you?_

She took in a deep breath outside the next door.

"There it is." The three of them descended on the food. One of them grabbed the alcohol and took the first swig, eliciting a murmur of discontent from the other two. "Did you do this, housekeeper?"

"N-no. Oswald's mother."

"You mean _Penguin_'s mother." Another round of laughter.

"Hey," Danielle leaned forward, "I'll be back in a bit to collect the cutlery and suchlike. Try not to make a mess, okay?"

The last thing she heard before she shut the door was, "Geez, what a nice ass."

* * *

"Hey," Maroni patted Oswald on the back, "you weren't this distracted yesterday. What happened?"

Oswald blustered for a bit. Maroni smiled slowly.

"Girl trouble?"

Oswald forced himself to blush while his fists clenched behind his back. Maroni raised an eyebrow, chuckled and reached inside his jacket. He stuffed the photograph he'd taken yesterday into Oswald's apron pocket.

"Men like me don't have a favour done to them that they don't reciprocate. People whom we owe a favour to, we don't make their wives into whores- unless their wives themselves want it, of course." Maroni winked. "This gal, she looks like a nice catch." Maroni made a suggestive gesture with his hands. "Girls like this, you wanna _keep_. You don't waste your time, pacing and wondering; you _do_. Geddit?"

Oswald blubbered his thanks. Maroni patted him on the back one more time.

"Frankie, get the kid a suit."

* * *

Danielle leaned against the door until the pathetic scratching sounds stopped.

Once they _had_, she opened it, kicked the corpse of the Asian and cleaned up the cutlery. As for the bags- she transported them one by one into next door. It nearly made her smile, the absurdity of it all- a pregnant girl and an old woman, killing three men and taking the loot for themselves. As it was, she couldn't carry more than one bag without her back aching.

She had just transported the third bag- they had brought in six- when she took one step outside the apartment and nearly ran headlong into Oswald.

They stood in silence for a beat. Danielle wasn't sure whether Oswald was fine now- she hadn't faced him since his tantrum (?) last night. She spoke first, hesitantly.

"Do you want to help with the money?"

"Oh, yes- yes, of course! Ladies f-first."

He held the door open for her. Somehow, Danielle got the impression that _something_ had changed. For now, though, she was content to let Oswald quietly survey her handiwork and take up the remaining two bags.

"What'll we do with the bodies?"

"Drag them down to the car. Leave them there in the car park. The police won't bother."

"The money?"

Oswald grinned. An attractive man he was not, but Danielle could recognize the sheer cunning behind those beady eyes.

"We have six bags. Four of these six bags will be spent on bribes. The other two will be kept as funds for a rainy day."

"What, in case we leave Gotham?"

"Gotham is my home! What, do you mean that after staying in my apartment, _you_ don't consider it home, too?"

The sudden vehemence in his voice caught Danielle off guard, just as she was preparing to lift one of the corpses off the ground in an improvised body bag. Oswald stared at her, his body bag already on one of his hunched shoulders.

"I'm not-" Danielle hunched into herself. "I'm- okay, Gotham is my home."

And then Oswald kissed her.

* * *

Oswald had absolutely no experience with kissing women, much less flirting or friendship. He either had allies or colleagues. There had been no place for friends or loves in his life. The only warmth he'd ever felt was stifling heat on the part of his mother.

Nevertheless, he adjusted to kissing Danielle rather quickly.

His hands clenched and caught in her faintly scented blonde hair. He oriented his nose so as not to provoke discomfort. His back arched around her abdomen, and as much as it hurt him and his permanently damaged knees, he straightened his legs.

It was a while before they finally broke apart.

"We'd better get the bodies down first," Danielle said, breathlessly, and Oswald nodded vigorously. In about half an hour, the car boot, backseats and front seats had one corpse each.

In the awkward silence as they took the stairs, Oswald looked at Danielle and ventured, "I got promoted today for saving one of the bags that they took. Restaurant manager."

"How long have you been working there?"

"One day and a little bit."

Danielle smiled. "Congratulations."

"Your smile is beautiful," Oswald replied. "You ought to smile more often."

His eyes widened. Clapping his hands to his mouth, his eyes darted about desperately. That was too fast. "What I meant is, uh-"

"I know what you meant." Danielle raised her eyebrows. Oswald wisely decided not to finish his sentence.

"So, uh, are we-"

"Yes. We're fine."

And then they continued to ascend the stairs.


	5. Day 5

**Author's Note: ****Please tell me if it's juddering and/or incomprehensible.**

* * *

"Good to see that you've decided to come back and eat with us at the table, Oswald," Mrs Kapelput remarked, tartly. It was remarkable how she'd changed since her near-hysterical reaction at Oswald's return.

Oswald shrugged and sat down. "I was working out some issues, Ma."

"Does it have anything to do with the money in the store room?" When Mrs Kapelput winked, she winked with her whole body. Oswald stuffed his mouth.

"Yes, Ma."

Danielle watched the exchange with some degree of interest. She hadn't watched Oswald interact with his mother normally before. Now that they had a moment of peace- at least, for Oswald, since he seemed satiated with his promotion- it was a good time for her to look at other matters.

"Uh, Ma," Oswald wiped his mouth, "did I tell you that my residence here is temporary?"

The table was silent. Danielle placed a hand over her eyes. Moment of peace, indeed. Mrs Kapelput's eruption was not long in coming. In fact, given the recent realization of Oswald's nickname, it could be plausibly assumed, in terms of the whole bird theme, that she was struck with a bad case of empty nest syndrome.

"_Oswald, how dare you spring such an important thing on me so long after you came? I will not allow you to move out, who will help me with the dishes? Oswald, Oswald, __**liebling**__-_"

Mrs Kapelput launched back into German, her dinner abandoned. Danielle watched with interest. Oswald shot her a death glare and tried to calm her down.

"Ma, _Ma_, I'm not going to leave permanently. I'll visit every weekend, it's for a promotion-"

"A _promotion_?" Mrs Kapelput's eyes suddenly became very small and screwed-up. "Oh, a promotion! That's good, Oswald, but what if someone tries to kill you? What if, what if-" More horrifying predictions filled the room. Discreetly, Danielle finished off her dinner and carried the plates into the kitchen.

"Danielle, dear, convince Oswald not to leave. You have most influence over him, try, Danielle, try-"

"Uh, Ma, actually I was intending to have Danielle move in with me. And, you know, the restaurant? She could help out at the restaurant-"

Danielle couldn't say she was surprised. Oswald had told her that Mr Kapelput's savings had been enough to tide them over for the next ten years, along with the sale of many antiques and the ardent refusal to buy anything. No wonder everything in the house was so old. Mrs Kapelput lavished the money left over on Oswald's clothes. A pity it wasn't quite the clothes he wanted. Even so long after the complete destruction of fascism, she was very much committed to Nazi ideology. Thus:

"_Are you- Oswald, leave me alone in the house to do all the housework myself and without her to help me- let her __**work**__, work like a __**man**__, there is no- this to happen, Oswald, __**liebling**__-_"

Oswald looked at her helplessly. Mrs Kapelput had attached herself to him like a limpet. Danielle cleared her throat. "Ah, Mrs Kapelput, I'm not going to work at the restaurant. I'm going to take care of Oswald, since he'll not be living here. He need _someone_ to take care of him, after all-"

Mrs Kapelput rounded on her. "_**Ja**__, my dear, but he'll be moving away, even because of promotion, and is bad, because nothing can replace work of mother in nurturing son-_"

"You could move in with us, Ma." Oswald was slowly kneading his forehead as he leaned against the mouldy sofa. Mrs Kapelput's face lit up, and then sagged again.

"No, Oswald, will not work. This house is your father's- it is mine too, I will leave it when I die- you must visit, Oswald, then, you visit every day, for lunch and dinner, I cook up big spread for you and Danielle." Although she was calming down, her command over English took some time to return. Oswald nodded understandingly.

"It's good that the two of you are living together. Back then- in the good old days- they said abstinence was good, but it was what they _did_ that mattered. I and your father, Oswald, we also never cared about living apart before marriage."

Danielle went red. Oswald went redder.

* * *

Despite having not purchased a thing for himself, nor Danielle purchasing anything for herself, they left his mother's apartment with more clothing that they had arrived with. Though, in sheer numerical terms, they'd hardly had anything when they'd first arrived, save the clothes on their backs.

Oswald was able to drag one free car ride from Maroni when inquiring about his job description and its accompanying perks. After the prerequisite tearful farewell from his mother (he teared up a bit too, actually), Danielle followed him downstairs. The driver was waiting rather impatiently. "There you are," he grunted, and opened the doors.

Oswald and Danielle shared a look and got in.

* * *

The actual apartment was in fact some distance from the restaurant itself. Oswald's recently departed boss' wife had vacated the premises, and was in fact still vacating it, when they arrived. As it turned out, she, too, had only one suitcase when she left.

"So," Danielle finally said, when they had placed their suitcases in the master bedroom (which was the only bedroom in the house), "_am_ I going to help you at the restaurant?"

Oswald plopped onto a chair- he didn't enjoy walking for too long- and thought for a while. "Uh, I'm not sure yet. It would help, but- it'd make you a target-"

"You're the restaurant manager, aren't you? It'd be easy to dismiss one of the staff. I'll tell you first, I'll be going stir-crazy cooped up in this place." Danielle propped her aching ankles up on a nearby tea table and sighed involuntarily.

Oswald looked at Danielle.

"Uh," he managed.

Danielle looked back at Oswald. "What?"

Oswald thought about rat poison. He thought about a broken bottle of alcohol. He thought of a smile. He got up from his chair and sat back down, face slightly warm. Danielle looked askance at him.

"Yes," he finally said, "you'll work at the restaurant. At present, however, I don't have other duties- I fully expect to obtain for myself other duties when the moment arises- so you can help out, I guess. Help take orders."

* * *

"Why-" Danielle began, and was silenced by Oswald.

"It's a tradition, I think. Three in the afternoon, the Don prefers to have lunch alone. You'll go take his orders."

"Who, me?"

"Who else? Go on, have faith."

"I'll have the ravioli- hold on. Who are you?"

Danielle made sure not to make eye contact. Once that was done, she felt that it was easier to talk. "I'm the new boss' old housekeeper."

"Ah." Maroni's eyes roved. Oswald wiped the glasses at the counter with a bit more vehemence than was necessary, and turned around when Frankie glanced at him. "You moved in together?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir, call me Sal, okay? What's your name?"

"Danielle, sir."

"_Danielle_\- I'll have the ravioli, the new '75 Pinot Noir-"

When Danielle finally went off with his order, Oswald could distinctly hear Maroni saying something like _real good investment, that kid- saves my money and brings a girl into the fold._ He was sorely tempted to do something improper.

* * *

Danielle was the only person remaining in the restaurant after everyone else had left. She watched Oswald lock up and accompanied him on the five-minute dash through the crime-infested streets back to the apartment. There were whistles, and catcalls, and thugs that jostled Oswald's shoulder, but after Danielle sent one of the men off with a deep gash in his left hand, the streets seemed somewhat quieter.

"Thank you," Oswald told her, as they finally entered the apartment. "I, uh, didn't think that you'd be so amenable to the whole scheme, especially with the Don's behaviour towards you. If you've got objections now, I _completely_ understand-"

"Oswald," Danielle cut him off, "I'm fine. I- haven't really told you everything about what happened before. That's kind of unfair, since you've told me all that, and so has your mother. I mean- in the end, I'm fine with working in the restaurant. My first job, don't you know?"

"No," Oswald said, turning away and hobbling into the bathroom. "I didn't know." The door shut quietly behind him.

Now, Danielle didn't have any experience with dating- not real dating, anyhow, since her boyfriends had largely been lacking in personality in general- but Oswald seemed to be giving off rather complex signals. It was almost enough to make her re-evaluate their entire relationship.

Which did call to mind the question: what _was_ their relationship, anyway?

He'd told her his life story. He'd let her stay in his mother's house. He'd allowed her to work in his restaurant. Without the last two factors, she would've had to result to actual prostitution before long, or just simply move on from Gotham. She owed him.

Danielle nodded to herself. Yes, that made sense. Now, to bathe.

* * *

When Oswald finally emerged from the bathroom, his hair now only slightly damp, he found Danielle in his mother's old nightdress. His response was instinctive and visceral.

"I'm going to have to get you new clothes." Danielle looked up. Oswald moved forward to the chair. "Here, you sleep on the bed. I'll get the chair." She shook her head. He paused, hesitant and confused. "Why not?"

Danielle stood up, smiling, and planted a kiss on his lips.

Among the numerous emotions that exploded into his brain like the sound of Allied biplanes, the strongest one was a rose-coated euphoria that threatened to detach him entirely from the principles of his goal of entering into Maroni's good graces. _Then again_, his mind reminded him, _this has nothing to do with Maroni_.

She was reciprocating.

Yes, she was, all right. Oswald allowed himself to be pulled to the bed. Neither of them removed their clothing, and for this he was glad. Silently, Danielle placed his slightly twitchy hand on her abdomen.

And that was how Oswald drifted off to sleep, beside this strange, wondrous creature.


	6. Day 8

"_That's the point_. Messing with Falcone."

Maroni broke off to smile at Danielle, who smiled back uncertainly. She'd never tried to act, not really, but reckoned that she actually had a knack for it. Maybe, maybe not. The section which Maroni occupied was empty. Frankie looked at Danielle and turned back to Maroni. She was a pretty face- damned pretty, if he was honest- but here his boss was proposing a risky scheme.

"Thank you, Danielle." Maroni watched her walk off, briefly, eyes tracking her arse, and then focused back on the issue at hand. "Now Frankie, I want him, and his people, to know that I'm not backing off. Arkham was only the beginning. We're taking over, Frankie," and here Maroni leaned forward, fingers tightening on the table, "_inch by inch._"

"Okay, but-"

"But, but, _but_. Make it happen."

"Okay, boss."

Maroni went to the washroom. Frankie ate one more mouthful of the spaghetti- somehow, it didn't taste as good- and turned around to look at the new boss. Something about the kid put him off. The way he looked at people- like a penguin. A goddamn penguin.

The kid was talking to his ex-housekeeper. Not for the first time, Frankie wondered why Maroni hadn't conscripted the girl into his brothels. She had potential, the girl did. Maybe when the baby dropped. He watched the kid and the girl exchange smiles and looked away. Damn but he was young. Like one of Frankie's own sons- hostile at the world, and then he got a girlfriend and calmed down. Hardly mature.

Maybe Frankie was wrong about the kid. Maybe he was just some immature kid. But the girl was his weakness. Frankie could hold that over his beaky-nosed head when it mattered.

* * *

"Frankie's suspicious," Danielle noted, her back to the sunlight streaming in through the windows. "You said that you wanted to rise up in the ranks, didn't you? He's someone you should watch out for."

"Yes," Oswald admitted. "Hey, Danielle- I didn't tell you about what happened immediately before I washed up, did I?"

"No. Are you going to tell me now?"

"Yes." Oswald placed the last glass in place and led the way out into the alley. "Danielle, before I washed up, I was a snitch. From Don Falcone."

"The other guy." Danielle paled. "Shit."

"They think I'm dead. But I'm not. And I can use that knowledge to my advantage. Don Maroni is talking about getting Falcone's casino, and I can help him with that."

"He won't take it well. I don't think he'll trust me, either- I'm in your camp, he thinks."

"It's an unfortunately necessary risk. He might come after you, though, so you ought to go back to my mother's house. Lay low until tonight."

"No. I'll stay."

"What? Why?"

"If I run, that means I'm guilty. That means you're lying. You'll die. I'll die."

"Yes." Oswald nodded slowly. "There's nothing for it, then. I hadn't thought of that."

* * *

Danielle shrieked when Oswald got his head pounded into the table. Frankie looked at her. "Shut up, girl-" he began, but was cut off by Maroni.

"You. Danielle, is it?"

Danielle nodded quickly. Maroni examined her slowly and pulled Oswald back up from the table. "Is he telling the truth?"

"I- I met him on the road. I was travelling with two men. In exchange for, uh, favours when we got back to Gotham. He showed up by the side of the road, dripping wet and in a suit."

Oswald shot her a grateful look. Maroni kept his hand wrapped around his neck. "Is it, now? And how did you end up with him and not the two boys?"

"He killed one of them and tried to ransom the other one. It didn't take."

"The Bellingfields." Frankie's eyebrows rose.

"You like this penguin, don't you?"

Danielle froze. Maroni smiled, and abruptly let go of Oswald, who launched back into his seat, panting, with blood seeping from a wound at his temple. "I don't do violence in front of broads." Then, to Oswald, "An asset, eh, penguin? We'll see how much of an asset you are. Frankie, find this James Gordon."

Oswald stuttered, "T-thank you, Don Falc-"

"Don't thank me. I'm not done with you yet. Enrico, send the girl back home."

* * *

Danielle stumbled back into her apartment. The trip back had been brief and quick- none of them were willing to harm a girl, much less a pregnant one, but she was hardly stupid enough to attack them, in turn. Unwilling to change out of her work clothes, she slumped onto the sofa and waited for some confirmation.

What would she tell Mrs Kapelput? This time, her boy really _would_ be dead. Oswald would be dead. Oswald, her friend (?) and- oh, never mind. Danielle resolved to do mindless housework until a resolution was reached.

* * *

It took an hour, but eventually, the doorbell rang. Danielle rushed to it, ignoring the pain in her ankles, and opened it.

"Penguin is done. The Don wants you to go and fix him up."

Danielle nodded stiffly and followed the man downstairs. What she was going to see when she finally reached the restaurant she did not know, but it was fairly clear that the Don had been responsible. Though it was quite clear that Oswald's story had been proven correct, a wound was a wound, and the Don had been responsible. So there.

It was considerably worse than she had expected. Danielle raised a hand to her lips and bolted to Oswald. From his position on a chair, sitting opposite Maroni, he looked quite the worse for wear. "Oh, god, what happened to you?"

"It's okay, Danielle, all is forgiven." Even in such a condition, Oswald could still give her a warning look. Danielle shot him a look and opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Maroni.

"It is indeed, isn't it, penguin? Okay. Listen. I'm talking to every man in this room. Tonight," and here Maroni banged the table, "tonight, we hit the casino. We take the casino. Penguin, you will come with us to the site, and we'll see if you're the weapon I think you are. If you're not…"

"I-I won't disappoint you, sir!"

"Of that I have no doubt. Now go home. I have a business to run."

Danielle looked askance at Oswald and received an almost imperceptible shake of the head in return. _The Don is a fickle man._

* * *

"_Ack-_"

"Keep still."

Oswald hunched his shoulders. Another suit, ruined. Still, the income from admittance into the inner circle would more than pay for it. Danielle's eyes were narrowed as she shifted the cold compress over his bloodied forehead. For all the spaciousness of the new apartment, and all the grandeur of the new furniture, there were no books on the shelves, no music, no television, and no umbrellas.

He gathered that he had a rather good view at how Maroni might view him: an asset. Now, all that needed to be done was to appear non-threatening, while knocking off those who might oppose him. He told Danielle this. After all, some input was better than none, wasn't it?

Danielle put the cold compress down and looked at him. "Oswald, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, sure. Yes."

"Can you tell me everything?"

Oswald stiffened. "I'm not sure if-"

"I won't tell anyone. Come on, I already moved in with you, I helped you with the funds."

_And you're the first friend I've had in a while_, Oswald thought. "What if someone interrogates you?"

"What if someone interrogates _you_?"

Oswald paused. "I… hadn't thought of that."

Danielle reached over and wrapped his cold hands in hers. His eye twitched. "It'll be fine. I'll stay away from the more dangerous aspects of whatever you'll be doing in the future. Just- please, let me in."

Oswald stared at her for a bit, and then began wrapping his fingers around hers. "Okay." His voice somehow sounded smaller than usual.

* * *

"Oh," Danielle said. The room was silent.

"Now you know," Oswald said, and, stretching, hobbled to the toilet. Danielle pushed herself into an upright position and stared at her stomach. Almost cautiously, warily, she reached with one skinny finger and prodded it.

So that's what Oswald was doing. It was very smart, to be sure- but she saw, too, why she was a loose end as well. She could find something to do, then, if Oswald was so concerned about her safety- maybe keeping watch on Gordon. Maybe going to Mrs Kapelput's house and helping with the housework, deflecting the MCU when they came to call- Oswald wanted to tell everyone himself, after all.

"I'll be going soon," Oswald interrupted, stepping into her view. He'd changed into a newer suit. Danielle smiled at him. His eyes changed, imperceptibly, and he smiled back, now just a little bit shyly.

"Do you- want to touch?"

Oswald furrowed his eyebrows. Danielle grabbed his hand and guided it to her belly.

"Oh."

Oswald stayed where he was for a good few minutes before the banging on the door started.

"Be safe," he told her, haltingly, and on impulse brushed his lips across the top of her forehead. Danielle watched as he hobbled outside. _My penguin_, she thought, somewhat excessively cheerily. Then she stood up. Dinner had to be prepared. _How domestic I am_.

* * *

Frankie watched the kid grinning as the car pulled away at top speed. He watched Maroni laugh, long and loud, as the casino disappeared behind them.

The kid _did_ have a future. Still, he was just a gimmick. A plaything. When he wore out his use, he'd be discarded, unless he had something to provide other than information about Falcone. And Frankie knew that the kid had more tricks up his sleeve.

He was in danger of being supplanted by that damn penguin. Frankie stepped on the gas and received a mild rebuke from Maroni. No response- such insolence was only allowed by the second-in-command. But would he be able to keep his place?

Frankie watched the kid limp up to his apartment, saw the willowy silhouette in the light. Maroni crowed about his victory in the backseat as they drove back to the mansion.

If the kid grew too cocky, well, there was always the girl.

* * *

"Did it go as planned?"

"Yes." Oswald dipped his head into the food and came up grinning, teeth flecked with meat and vegetables. "It went wonderfully."

"I caught that Frankie staring at you as you came in. He might not trust you, Oswald."

"Then, if he gets to be too much, he'll have to die. All men must die eventually, after all."

"True, true. Hey, Oswald, have you ever thought about making a name for yourself in this town?"

"Many times."

"Cobblepot isn't exactly a very good name to fear. Neither is Kapelput. Have you, erm, ever considered _Penguin_?"

Oswald looked up. "Penguin?"

"I hear people call you that. You know," and here Danielle reached across to wrap one long arm over his shoulders, "you shouldn't let them get to you. If they gave the name to you, throw it back in their faces and claim it as your own. Make them fear it, this thing that they've created. Blow up in their faces."

Oswald gulped down a glass of water thoughtfully. "I don't know."

"Think about it, Oswald. You said you wanted to get into the inner circle. You've got it. So, I don't know, find a catchier name. _Falcone_. _Maroni_. _Penguin_."

Oswald laughed involuntarily. "It doesn't fit."

Danielle blinked. "Wait a minute- no, it doesn't. Ah, well."

The two of them spoke for a while longer.


End file.
